Saturday, January 6, 2018

The anatomy of melancholy


The flowers on your cup — what makes them grow?

The heart sees, the eye feels. That’s all I know.

That, and the dark coming up, and the art of its fall.

The joy that it brings when you’re not there at all.

The pleasure of presence passed to allow.

The wind, as it blows. And the calm.



4 comments:

Marion said...

When I was carelessly, violently shoved into this abyss of lonely melancholy, I let all my beloved flowers die. They came into my darkness with me. They, the fortunate ones, are dead. I am still lost in total darkness, sad & empty.

William Michaelian said...

Are you sure you are lost? I ask because it seems your flowers still live, and that they are in bloom, and are beautiful words.

Gary B. Fitzgerald said...


For Marion:

Faith

Put you faith in Nature,
in the sea and stars and the magic
of the mind.
Put your faith in being,
in particles and thunderstorms
and time.
Put your faith in living
and how you always seem to
somehow stumble through.
Put your faith in you.
God did.


Marion said...

Gary, thank you so much for the beautiful, sweet poem. It lifted my spirits & gave me hope. I'm trying... xo